


The Nature of Humanity is Terrifying

by memearchive



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Ache for me. ACHE for me. I demand of it., Angst, Anyway I almost put Acid as a tag then remembered that's a drug, Brainwashing, Bruce Is In Physical Pain, Canonical Character Death, Dick Grayson is Robin, Did y'all see Destiel's canon I'm losing my shit, Don't Worry About It, F/M, Gen, God I love making people feel pain so much it's unreal, God this is so many big words, Got my tags screenshotted like five times and I've been chasing that high ever since the first., Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, I haven't decided on one yet but I don't feel like writing this IN the title or summary that's weird, I put everything in the tags and clutter it to confused people. It's what I do., I torture my comfort characters. It's what I do., Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Torture, It's Robin's parents don't worry, It's been so long since I've done this but I won't apologize I am not a good man., Joker adopts Dick, Maybe there's will be some Acid you don't know. Read to find out., My aspiration is to be on the Weird AO3 Tags Tumblr account so I do this., Non-Consensual Drug Use, Oh right DCU fic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Character Death, That ones not big anyway why is Trapeze artist Castiel SPN a tag, They're always dead it's fine don't worry about it, Title to be Changed, Trapeze, Why isn't THAT a tag but Trapeze artist Castiel SPN is one this is bullshit., also
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:01:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27611777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memearchive/pseuds/memearchive
Summary: It was his most elaborate trick. A long maze of i's to cross and t's to dot, but he's here, he's made it. They've made it. And all it took was several hours on Wikipedia and a quick run to the 24 hour store! Far easier than the American adoption system, if he says so.Or,Joker has decided two's a bore, and decides to get a son. And who better than his arch nemesis, his reverse, his rival, his pal's child?
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Harleen Quinzel, Dick Grayson & Joker (DCU), Dick Grayson & Wally West, Joker (DCU)/Harleen Quinzel
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	1. Are you afraid of death?

**Author's Note:**

> As much as it goes against every fiber of my being, I will be taking constructive criticism. I know, I know, who ARE you Lumi? I'm a man with no plan, that's who.
> 
> Anyway I revised it one whole time, please for the love of god point out grammar and spelling issues, repeated sentences, etc. lest I look a fool in front of God and his judgmental little angel fucks. Said with love, of course, Mister Trapeze artist Castiel SPN. Read my goddamn tags if you don't get that.

"Are you afraid?" The deranged voice asks, shrill and intrigued, "Of _death_?" He adds, an annoying lilt to his voice, "Of _pain_?" A wild cackle rings in his ears, tremouring his brain.

"No." He bites out, glaring through the blindfold at where he hopes the man's pale face is. He can see enough to tell.

"Of course not," Joker hums, patting Robin's chest affectionately, "The Big Bat taught you how to fear _nothing_...except maybe him, hm?"

He paces the floor, tapping his fingers together like a TV show villain. Robin nearly rolls his eyes. But, so as to avoid dismemberment, he picks a better option.

"You were never going to kill me." It's a question.

"What about something _worse_ than death, my baby bird?" He creeps forward. The glint in his eyes tells Robin all he needs to know.

"I'm not afraid of you." He lies, as he brings the crowbar up to his palms, where his hands are bolted to the wall behind. He screams as the metal pops free, and he falls to his knees.

Gloved hands drag him on the ground, his hands too weak to do much of anything right now. He fumbles on the ground, struggles to hit his SOS beacon around the trigger he's only partially sure is the bomb Joker strapped on so kindly when he was unconscious- isn't sure he gets it when Joker tosses him against a mess of bars. Where are they?

"Climb back into your nest, baby bird, climb back up." Joker whispers, far too close to his ear, but when he tries to kick he hits air.

Robin grunts as his wounds touch the metal through torn gloves. He goes up the ladder rung by rung, his flesh screaming and tendons tearing. His body slumps against the metal, and he prays the clunk he hears isn't the bomb's trigger. Joker really knows his way around a kidnapping by now, doesn't he?

Robin nearly slips when he reaches the top, feeling the air where something solid should have been. He lands on the rough grate, hearing Joker climb up behind him. He could have kicked him down. Robin swears, and grimaces at the cackle he earns.

"Oh, my, how your wings have been plucked." He whispers, lifting Robin off the ground, "How about we go for a quick fly? See if you've got your _sea legs!_ " He bursts into hysterics, pushing Robin closer to what must be the edge, his hand never leaving the collar.

Robin flails and kicks, using every ounce of energy and willpower to counteract the pain. Adrenaline flares in his gut and he grunts as his attacks at sent back with a hard whack over the head. He sees stars through pale fabric.

"Be careful!" He exclaims, annoyed and maniac, "You might _fall_."

He lets go of Robin's collar, and he's surprised to find solid ground below him.

"Let's _tussle_." He breathes, and tears the cloth from his face.

Robin blinks through bright lights, relieved when he feels his mask but sent through a wide array of emotions at the sight of his current predicament.

The glowing green below an open portion of the tall platform, coupled with the sudden familiarity of the gap, tall ceiling and hanging lights makes him dizzy. But Joker running at him full-speed snaps him out of it, and he breathes something between a curse and a prayer. 

The go flying towards the railing behind Robin, his hair whipping wildly. A hard knee once, twice in the gut followed by what Robin considers a _beautiful_ kick between the legs pries the clown off of him. He leaps up and grabs him by the back of his collar, flipping the man and landing him on the ground. Robin stumbles a bit, a sudden wave of nausea that he's never felt. He sees the ground metres away and makes his way into the centre of the grate.

"Fear of heights, little birdie?" Joker asks with a look of wild glee in his too-wide eyes. He laughs, "How fun! And ironic. Poor thing." He shoots, and Robin barely dodges, the bullet hitting his shoulder.

He knocks the bedazzled gun from Joker's hand, spotting another he didn't notice earlier - Batman would _kill him_ if Joker didn't - and snatching it away. Robin chucks both into the acid, letting out a cackle of his own. He grins, but Joker does as well, and his drops.

"I like your laugh, birdbrain." He says, "But I like _mine better_." His face twists into something demonic, a fist flying too fast with Robin in too much shock. It lands on his nose, and Robin catches his face in a bloody hand before tossing his own, but his hands are still weak, and he barely leaves a dent.

They go round and round, mania filling Robin's heart at dangerous levels whenever he gets too close to the tall vat below, his eyes widening and he feels like he's seeing double, only realising that he is after finding himself face-to-face with the ground. He flips up, lands shakily and swings a roundhouse at Joker's neck.

But the clown grabs the foot - Robin's too tired; too much blood loss and too much panic leaving him sloppy - and flips Robin on his back. He straddles his chest, a knee on each shoulder.

"This has been real fun, my baby bird, but it seems it's time for you to fly out of the nest..." When with the metaphors end? When? Soon? Please say soon. "It's been a treat!"

He grabs Robin's neck and presses, hard.

"Now you have a choice."

Robin chokes, gasps and struggles. Joker's face looks far more twisted than before, and he can't tell if he's hallucinating or not.

"You go kaboom, or your daddy does," He says, tapping the button on his belt lightly, "What d'ya think my girl's been doin' this whole time?"

Joker hits him one last time, then touches his mask with a dirty nail, running it down his temple. He stays oddly silent, a wide grin covering from one side to the other of his skull. He looks like a creature Robin would read about in one of his old folklore books. One his mother would tell him about before telling him about all those who would protect him from them all. But now, he's the one doing the protecting. The city, his friends, Bruce. But he's failed. Maybe he was never safe.

"Tick tock, my boy!" Joker shouts, and Robin realises he's climbed off.

He stumbles to his feet, looks around and them at his belt. His finger lingers on the button, and Joker's grin widens. This is want he wants.

He touches the button, but his heart hurts. Not like this.

His eyes see past the clown's face, into the vats below but seeing sawdust and blood. His mind plays tricks on him in the green, thinking it's blood bubbling beneath him. Robin can hear his parents' voices, can feel their arms around him and feels the warmth in his father's proud smile. Oh, god, not like this.

In a moment of pure thoughtlessness, Robin tears the belt off, pressing the button and tossing it at the Joker.

He turns, races and leaps, fingers outstretched for the fly bar, only for blinding lights to hit him, and his hands miss, and the air funnels around him like an angry tornado. He hears a wild laugh so loud that he looks to see the Joker beside him, but finds himself alone. 

And when he looks down, Dick doesn't see his parents waiting for him, nor the net. He sees a mist of green, a mess of terror in the bubbling acid, and he realises it's his voice surrounding his collapse. And he wonders, as his skin screams out in pain, whose fate was worse? Has he suffered enough? Evidently, not.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be two different chapters, fun fact, but the first looked far too short so I stuffed them together. This website sure has a way to make 3 hours look like 20 minutes worth of writing.

"Oh, _c'mon_ , Batsie. Easy is no fun." Harley stands over Batman's body as he pulls himself up. She places the bat- no- on his shoulders, pushing down and lowering her face to meet his.

"Wanna know a secret?" She asks, glancing down at the button on the gold belt high on her stomach. It's flashing now, Batman notices, counting the wires escaping it to an odd three. That can't be right.

"What?" He asks, finally, when she doesn't continue. It comes out as a bark, and he's glad. He's exhausted, in all honesty. He just wants to get Robin back, goddammit.

" _I lied_." She whispers, tapping the battery pack, "I'mma big ol' _liar_ , Batsie. Sorry!" She presses the button but Batman doesn't run. He knows. He knew.

Nothing happens, and he pushes her off, grabbing the baseball bat and snapping it in half. She gawks, then grins.

"But ya knew that."

"Where's Robin?" He snaps. It's been fifteen minutes, Robin's SOS hasn't gone off, Joker has the real bomb and Harley is a distraction. But he has no clue where Joker is, and he doubts Harley will let him go looking when he could be tortured like this. Not like an hour-long solo search part isn't torturous.

"Oh, around." She says, waving a hand, "With Mister J."

"I figured. Tell me _where_!" He shouts, " _Now_." He growls on, for effect.

Harley rolls her eyes, a look of glee in them when their glares meet.

"Well, I s'pose I could tell ya...For a price."

"No price." He grunts, grabbing her neck and tightening his grip, " _None_. Where is Robin?" He shouts.

Harley hits his hand a few times, eyes widening as she finally realises he's serious, _goddammit_.

"Fine! Fine. I'll show ya."

Batman narrows his eyes, but, after a moment, finally elects that she's telling the truth. And the sooner he can get there, the better. He lets go with a growl and a solid glare, for equal measure, but none of that is anyway near what he will do to them when he sees that state Robin's in.

  
Dick feels nothing and everything; feels as he would think an astronaut would if they spacewalked nude. A blast of screaming throughout every nerve ending until all that remains is an odd tingling; the tactile version of a squelching sound. He laughs.

It doesn't hurt, but it doesn't feel pleasant. He feels hot, so hot but he's not sweating. He feels high; and he's been high before, a time Wally has yet to let him forget nor live down. His muscles are tensed until forced to relax, skin dipped in bleach and the exposed tendons in his palms braiding themselves together.

The viscosity of the acid is an odd feeling, like swimming in heavy water or skinny dipping in lava; dealer's choice. He doesn't even feel the body landing beside him until hands are gripping his bubbling flesh tight, dragging him from his purgatory and back into the world.

The air hits him like a gunshot, and he gasps in air and acid. The action tickles, and sends tremours through his body until his muscles convulse like a seizure once and then twice before relaxing him completely. 

A thin arm holds him at the waist, and he turns to see the Joker there, grinning just as wildly as before, though the memory feels as though it happened millennia ago.

He laughs and a rough giggle escapes Dick's chest, a contagion in his body. He can't stop, he can't _stop_. Shivering into the motion until another wave wracks his body and aches in his gut.

He hears the splash of a third, and turns to get a face-full of green, head lifting up so it hits his neck instead. Another round of cackles are torn from his numb throat and the sound is echoed tenfold until he realises the other is laughing, as well.

She appears like an apparition at first, until the goo drips down and reveals what he used to think was a painted face, but, evidently not.

Around them a swirl of colour flows out like a hypnotic spiral; red and pink and green and blue.

The sound of their voices fill the air until it's all Dick can hear. His head feels so light it falls, resting against Joker's chest as a sticky hand covers his cheek.

He barely register's Harley's face near his until it's too late, the world evapourating around him. He can't find his voice, can't find his muscles. All he can do is laugh, until the world is gone, and he can't feel a damn thing.

  
Batman doesn't waste his time with swears or curses or shouts, instead grabbing Joker by the throat and slamming him against the railing. Fists pummeling into him, eyes filled with something more than rage. Harley steps away, wide-eyed, and he goes at her next.

It's when they're both bruised and bloody that he stops, forcing himself to pull his fists away before they leave with lives staining them.

He can't even cry, can't even scream as the hollowness in his gut claims his throat as well; doubling only until it triples, and he looks between the two before tying them up with shaking hands. He disappears silently, a long look back at the vat leaving his soul vacant. There's not even a body.

  
The ropes weren't even that hard to break- Bats was _clearly_ out of it. He wasn't even in there long! A good thirty seconds, maybe. At least he saw the jump. _That_ was genius, he didn't even plan on it!

But yes- yes, making the Birdie, of free will and thought, sentence himself to eternal hell; his best trick yet. All with a paying audience and front-row seats. Not that the final act is here, not so soon, no.

Step 1 and 2: Tricks and treats. Fake bombs, fake buttons and a lot of hours on Wikipedia spent making the best early-halloween props out there. 3 and 4, separate and drug; 5 and 6, confuse and befuddle. And now, he has a son!

A simple little trick, really, shocking no one else does it this way. So much easier than the American adoption system, really.

He didn't anticipate the boy to jump so early, though. That was a surprise; but a welcome one. Perhaps there's more to him than he originally thought. Now that he has him, though, he can take off that damned mask. Could have done it earlier, but where's the fun in that?

Now, all that's left is some good ol' fashion family bonding, and they will be right as rain, and perfectly set up to torment the old Bat.

By the time sirens reach the warehouse, the big happy family are long gone, colourful, drenched figures in the night.

  
Dick wakes with blurry vision. He touches his eyes, pulls the skin down then blinks repeatedly. It doesn't clear.

He hears footsteps nearby, and remembers that he's supposed to be Robin. He turns and spots Harley, internally cursing himself for not playing asleep. Too late, now. She pauses, and he sits up, covering his mouth when a cough turns into something more..manic.

"Mornin'." She says, waltzing over and kneeling down. He blinks again, and tries to cover his eyes but Harley grabs his wrists, and for some reason he doesn't fight it. He's not tied down, anyway. "Huh! I like the look."

"Wh'?" He barely gets out before the lough explosion of laughter behind signals Joker's entrance. He turns, belatedly tries to jump into an offensive, but Harley tugs his arms behind his back too easily. Robin's head spins and he tries to focus his thoughts.

"Good morning birdboy!" Joker exclaims, grinning and slapping both hands to either side of his face, "Or should I say _Richie_? Dick? Rich? Boy, you're _definitely_ rich, now!"

He groans, pushes forward and tries to not focus on the cold ball of fear in his gut; god, his mask his _mask_ \- his mask. 

Dick's memories come back slowly, but surely, until he remembers what happened. He relaxes his arms in hopes of Harley releasing him, and she does.

He brings his hands up to his face, actually looks at them despite the blur and goes pa- and swallows thickly. Oh, _god_ oh god.

"Wanna see the full thing?" Harley calls, spinning him a bit too fast and leading him to a mirror above a mock-fireplace. Where is he?

Dick looks into his reflection, touches his cheek and gags. His skin is tinted white, splotches of all over the place. It doesn't entirely cover his complextion, but does a good job. It looks like someone dipped him in ink. Well, white ink.

He's not in uniform anymore and mentally cringes at the thought of the Joker or Harley un- and redressing him. The outfit is uncomfortably tight, a similar black and red card pattern like one of Harley's; cutting off shortly around his thighs and biceps. He doesn't have shoes on.

Dick barely acknowledges the Joker-esque hair in favour of gawking at his eyes. He remembers Joker's eyes being green, _too green_ , but he's seen Wally's, and, well, who's he to judge biological iris shading? He's never seen someone with pink eyes, before. Not like this, at least.

He swallows, gasps then turns to punch Harley but he's too slow, his aim off. He falls forward, and she catches him.

"Easy, kid! We ain't gon' hurt'chya!" 

"You're- lying." He spits out, standing, but she has his wrists pinned together, and he turns to Joker only to get a face-full of Joker Gas.

Harley lets go after the mask is on and he pries and pries at it, holding his breath until he's faint and only breathing when he knows he'll pass out. It holds tight, and he slams his face in pure panic against the nearest wall, but it does nothing.

The laughter comes quickly, with no fade-in or entrance at all. A punch to the gut and he's out of breath cackling like a mad-man. He falls backwards, tripping on the bed he woke on and into a wall. It collapses behind him, and panicked eyes dart about the façade home to reveal what looks to be a movie studio. He scrambles to his feet, sprinting off.

  
The tube connected to the face mask pops free and Dick can breathe after another painful few minutes. He's glad whatever the hell Joker put it in didn't kill him, but as he realises why the world appears so goddamn fuzzy around him he kind of wishes it did. He needs to get home.

He dodges the first round of Joker's thugs, but on the second he isn't so lucky.

Without his gadgets, he's left to only the basics to take them out.

A bigger man charges him and he jumps away, a roundhouse kick making him dizzy enough to grab his skull and knock the lights out against the concrete wall. He flips onto another man's shoulders, guiding him into his friend and slamming them both to the ground.

A shorter man pins him to the wall, his head spinning and eyes wide.

"What the-?" He begins, but Dick frees himself with a headslam. He knees the wind out of him then kicks him off the edge of the stage. He looks around.

The remaining three charge, and he lures them to the sound booth, leaping up so the first barrels straight into the glass, and, while he's recovering, throws the tallest into a bright light - head-first, for good luck.

Dick's vision doubles and he spins, catching the bat and twisting the man's arm until he hears a pop. He makes good use of the new tool, before returning to glass-face on his left and kicks him back down, this time into the control pannel. 

He looks around for an easier escape route - he's too out of it to keep going on like this, even if he hates to admit it. Dick spots a vent that could be big enough, then remembers his severe lack of grappling hook.

He glances up through the broken glass- spots the electricity pannels. Dick makes quick work of them, watching as the platforms above the stage lower in incriments until he's sure he- probably- can make the jumps.

Dick doesn't waste time reaching the top platform, leaping off and grabbing onto one of the dangling lights. For a moment, a scream is lodged in his throat, as green mist rises beneath him and the shouts of a crowd blend in. But it's gone so quickly he doesn't waste time thinking about it.

Dick flies from light to light until he's close enough to the vent. He positions himself, and then swings the chord until his foot slams into the grate. A few tries later and the metal clatters down the shaft, and Dick jumps inside. 

Dick doesn't manage to get the oxygen mask off as he makes his way through Gotham, hazily. He can still taste the gas on his tongue, but tries to focus on his task. Rogue laughter escapes him and he hits his chest until it stops.

The streets are near empty but a few remaining civilians and/or thugs remain. He's at least glad for the plastic thing when it hides his identity, at least a little. Not that he's concerned about them figuring out who Robin is. In this outfit? He's just glad no one can see Dick Grayson parading around like a Harley Quinn cosplayer. It's not his best look. Not that he minds the shorts; his skin feels like it's burning and the cool air is nice. Still not his best look.

A police siren whoops behind him and he darts into an alleyway. Teeth-painted oxygen mask and colourful jumpsuit does not equal _normal Gotham resident_ to the police. Or much of anyone. He should stick to the shadows.

The fire escape creaks loudly beneath his weight, but he's relieved to be on a rooftop, once more. He just hopes Joker doesn't find him, again. He doubts this suit has an SOS linked to the Batcomputer.

The thought startles the boy into action, and he checks each inch of the thing for traces of a tracker. There's got to be one. He touches the mask. Shit.

Dick looks around, only determining his location, safely, after he finds the looming building of Wayne Enterprises and the nearby under-construction mall. He should find a clothing store in there.

He leaps and rolls across the rooftop, making his way into the mall through a ceiling vent.

The building is huge; with glass walls and doors barred off with collapsing metal shutters. First, he needs to disable any security measures. A ride to GCPD like this could be..catastrophic.

Dick finds the electricity panels, yet again, and turns off all alarm systems, while also opening the shutters and flicking on the lights in the halls. He has to be quick, though, because even with the shops dark the light still peaks through the windows.

Dick raids the first clothing store he finds, removing the offensive garment and slipping into comfortable jeans and a zip-up hoodie. He leaves the unitard in a toilet, flushing it with an odd sense of vengeance he hasn't felt in a while.

Dick fiddles with the mask some more, the straps binding it to his skull metal and the actual plastic bit protected by some more. He doesn't feel like getting a sledgehammer to the face anytime soon, and instead looks for somewhere with a screwdriver.

Upon further inspection, Dick discovers a tamper-proof pin placed in the centre of the cross. He frowns, tapping it and taking a quick glance around the cheap hardware store. He doubts, especially in this town, he'd find the right size and shape of bit to remove the piece, but he'll improvise.

A quick run-through of the first two aisles is all it takes and he finds a set of screwdrivers. He grabs the smallest four flat blades and goes to town. It takes a few tries and a few minutes before it finds the right size, but Dick finally undoes the first screw, and sighs as he realises the long night he's in for. He gets to work.

  
The mask clicks off with a satisfying hiss; the remaining gas expelling into the air. He waves it away.

It's as Dick's leaving the store that he hears the faint sound of police sirens, and curses. He was _going_ to turn off the lights, but apparently someone's just too impatient. Dick climbs back into the vent, climbing onto the roof only to be spotted by a helicopter. Oh, god.

He ducks back inside, sliding down and racing through another route but he's got no idea where he is. He bites his lip as he hears the doors open; he should have locked them.

Dick climbs out onto the scaffolding near the wall. He crouches and makes his way, silently, along it.

The police are searching the stores, first, with a small group checking the halls. What, did they think this was _heist of the year_ for Gotham? It was probably the lack of an alarm, that did it, he thinks, sourly.

Dick makes his way through and up the planks, towards the second floor when he hears a shout of, " _There he is_!"

He ducks his face into his sleeve, pulling the hood up over his head and swearing. The light blind him even more than the acid did, and he holds his hands up in surrender. The hood barely conceals his face.

Shit.

"Hands in the air! _Hands in the air_!" They are, _they are_ , he thinks, annoyed, and is about to shout at them when he hears the Commissioner.

"Got any buddies around here, or is it just you?"

Dick swallows, his throat scratchy and raw from the laughter.

"Just me." He calls, and watches the man pause.

"How about you come on down, son?"

He wants to protest, but they have guns, and he's basically Dick Grayson. He climbs down the scaffolding carefully, the ladder down to the first floor trembling underneath his weight, so he redistributes it.

He ducks his head down as the Commissioner approaches.

A hand waves the guns down from the other men. Now that he has a better look, there's only 8 of them, total. He ignores the helicopter. "Had us all scared, thought there was some big heist going on." Called it, "What's a kid like you doing out here so late at night, anyway?"

Dick shrugs, pulling the hood down and trying to make his voice higher. 

"It was cold and home's too far away."

"And where's home?" He crouches down, looking up at him and Dick glances away. He shrugs again.

"Nowhere important."

"And what about your folks, huh? You got folks?"

"No, sir." He shakes his head, "Not anymore."

Gordon gives him a sympathetic smile, and touches his arm; "How about we take you back to GCPD? Spend the night there. Just return whatever you took, and there'll be no consequences, scouts honour." He holds up his hand in a mimic, and Dick barely smiles, just nods.

"Didn't take anything." He answers.

"You sure?" The man touches the tag on the jacket, and Dick curses.

"Didn't have any clothes." He tries.

"None?"

"None."

Gordon frowns, glances around then nods, "I'll pay for it, then, how's that sound?" Oh, god, Dick feels horrible. He bites his cheek, the thought of Bruce's bank account making his head spin and all he says is, "Thank you."

"Let's get you some shoes, too, then. While we're at it." He takes his hand, and Dick glances at his numb feet. Oh, right. Why didn't he think of that? "What's your size?"

"Eight."

Gordon says something to the cops as they gather around him, and Dick takes the opportunity to swipe a pair of sunglasses from the dollar store. He tears the tag off, this time, and slides them on.

"What's he doin'? Hey, kid! What'd you just do?" Officer Lancing calls, approaching and Dick starts to tug at the tag on his hoodie instead, hands flying up and his feet stumbling behind him.

"Sorry, sorry- just- it was itchy. It was itchy, sorry." He breathes, and those acting lessons paid off, because the man quickly apologizes, but does drag him along back to the shoe store.

  
"How about you take off that hood, son?" Gordon asks as he climbs out of the car.

Dick shakes his head, tugging it down more and saying, "It's cold."

"Alright. Alright." Gordon agrees, and Dick is lead inside with no handcuffs. He ignores the déjà vu he feels with the situation, instead focusing on his act.

He's sat down on a bench beside Gordon's office, a blanket provided to warm. He blinks and tries to keep his eyes open but, still, all he sees is sawdust and blood.

"What's your name, son?" Gordon finally asks, at his desk and typing away. He panics.

"Uh- Rick." Well, he's never felt so dumb before in his life.

"You got a last name, Rickie?" Oh, god don't call him that.

"No." He replies, bluntly. "My parents ain't left me one." He sticks the accent on, for good luck, and Gordon sighs, then nods.

"Who were you parents, if you don't mind me asking?" He's facing him, now. Dick stares away, at the water cooler nearby. He remembers watching it when he was in this chair, before. Gordon got him a drink, after he noticed.

"I mind." He says, and he nods.

"Want a drink?" He asks, and Dick smiles a bit. Still the same Jim Gordon. At least someone's the same between the two. Dick curses his newfound look.

"Yes, please."

Dick dodges most of the rest of the questions, only lying when he can't get through them. Gordon still doesn't have a name on him, and Dick's relieved when he puts him in one of the empty holding cells with a jacket as a pillow.

"Get some rest, son. We'll talk in the morning, alright?"

"Thank you." He says, lying down and waiting until the lights are flicked off and all he can hear are the leers and snores of his cell neighbours.

Dick pulls his sunglasses off, jiggling the temple tips off until only the metal remains. He unlocks his cell door and walks out silently. He hears the shouts of the other inmates, but ignores them. He repeats the process on the front door until he's free, where he replaces the shades and disappears back into the shadows, climbing up another fire escape until he's on the roof. Time to go home.

**Author's Note:**

> So I got like, what, three chapters ready and rearing to go. Next will be up tomorrow, because I enjoy the element of suspense, and the third probably the day after. 
> 
> The rest? Who knows. Not you, certainly not me. Not the lords or all of their disciples. There I go, again, on a pagan rant. 
> 
> Anyway hope you enjoy my little hyperfixation exploration with this one; I actually was writing something like this last year but my computer fucking exploded, quite literally, so now I'm here. Consider this the revised version, but I might go back and rewrite that one. I wasn't that far in it, don't think I was, I most certainly was not. Similar concept, different execution. 
> 
> Don't worry about it.


End file.
